


To Devour

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Extra Treat, Ghost Javert, Ghost Sex, M/M, Sounding, Tentacles, Trick or Treat: Trick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-09 20:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16457036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: Sometimes, or so the peasants of Asturias say, when a soul dies that neither God nor Devil may lay claim to, it eludes the paths to Heaven or Hell, and instead drifts forgotten in the mists that part the realm of souls from that of the living.





	To Devour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TwelveLeagues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwelveLeagues/gifts).



Sometimes, or so the peasants of Asturias say, when a soul dies that neither God nor Devil may lay claim to, it eludes the paths to Heaven or Hell, and instead drifts forgotten in the mists that part the realm of souls from that of the living.

Sometimes, when the living soul had formed a strong attachment—when there was a bitter, burning need for revenge or a mindless obsession that had consumed it in its mortal days—such a lost soul might not slowly dissolve into the ether of the world: the soil, the mist, the clouds; but instead burn in the twilight between life and death, hunting its earthly obsession from that spectral plane.

Inspector Javert had not thought of such old wives tales’ from his childhood for many years.

In fact, Javert had not possessed the capacity for thought for many weeks.

Sometimes, Javert remembered that he was dead. He had risen like mist from the river, and for a long time, had floated above that abyss of absolute darkness, the roar of water deafening any call from Heaven or Hell that might have come.

Later, betimes, he found himself floating along the quays, recognizing a station-house, or finding himself all of a sudden in an overgrown garden illuminated by moonlight.

But those glimpses of awareness were always brief, and it seemed that as soon as he began to grasp at an understanding of his own existence, he would be blown away by a chilling wind, turning into fragments of mist.

That was until one night he found himself at long last in a dark room inside a small apartment that he did not recognize.

It was dark outside. Moonlight fell in and shone through his immaterial body. When Javert looked out of the window, there was a sensation of faint recognition. He had seen this street before.

And then he became aware of the call.

Something— _someone_ —was nearby. Someone who seemed to exude an irresistible warmth.

Suddenly, Javert became aware of the fact that he had not felt anything but bone-chilling cold for a long, long time.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, he drifted closer through the source. The beckoning heat pulled at him until he floated through a wall. He found himself in another dark room, the curtain half open so that sparse moonlight fell in.

And in the bed, a man was asleep. Tendrils of heat seemed to rise from him, drawing Javert closer and closer.

Javert could not have resisted had he wanted to—but he did not want to resist, for he had recognized the presence that had lured him here.

_Jean Valjean._

It was Jean Valjean who was so innocently asleep here, his white hair shining silver in the moonlight, his skin flushed with the tempting heat of mortals.

Javert moved closer. He could almost feel the heat of the sleeping body now.

There was a strange light that surrounded Valjean, almost like a halo—and yet there was nothing sacred to that light. It was a terrifying, seductive thing, a warmth whose pull Javert could not resist, and which made the emptiness inside him hunger.

The void within him writhed. Starving, angry, it was unable to keep from hungering for the warmth before it with an animalistic single-mindedness.

Suddenly, Javert found himself floating over Valjean. Even through the blanket, he could feel his warmth. It roused something inside him. The more he inhaled of that human heat, the clearer he could think.

Beneath him, Valjean shifted. There was a frown on his face now, and as Javert watched, a groan escaped him. His head tossed back and forth. His breathing became more labored.

At the same time, his body exuded more heat, drawing Javert closer. The faint taste of it stirred the monstrous hunger inside him until he sank through the blanket, finding his way through Valjean’s shirt as if it were of no more substance than his own body.

Beneath, Valjean’s body was as hot as fire. And the more Javert gorged himself on all of his hot-blooded, frail mortality, the stronger he felt himself becoming.

Outside, the wind picked up. The breeze that came in through the half-open window pushed back the curtain until the moonlight filled the room with its eerie, pale light. Somewhere, far away, a creature howled, lost in the darkness, filled by the same, all-consuming hunger that drove Javert onward.

He had fingers now, Javert realized as he used them to stroke down the once so powerful body. They were insubstantial like mist—but through his touch, he could draw more of Valjean’s warmth into himself, feeding on his life until he, too, was filled with warmth instead of the chill of the land beyond death.

The hunger had not abated; it was an ever-present thing that lived inside his chest. He had been nothing but rage and hunger for so long. But now that he had fed from Valjean’s human warmth, he felt some of his former senses returning. He almost remembered what it was to be alive.

To think, to walk, to desire—to be more than eternal coldness and starvation...

Had he, once upon a time, desired to lay claim to the warm body beneath him?

Javert could not remember. Even so, he craved more of Valjean’s warmth. For as long as he touched him, he felt almost corporeal. Almost satiated.

Suddenly, Valjean shuddered beneath him and his eyes opened with a gasp. For a moment, there was fear on Valjean’s face as he seemed to stare straight at Javert.

Then, outside, a church bell rang, and Javert felt the human warmth that had held him together recede until once more, he was nothing but a mist of hunger and rage, carried on the midnight breeze away from the small bedchamber.

***

It was the night of the new moon when Javert found himself irresistibly drawn to the small chamber once more. Through the impenetrable gloom, something shone like a beacon, drawing him closer and closer as the vast emptiness within him ached to gorge itself on all that light and warmth. It was not until he pressed himself against the living body that had called him there, drawing on its mortal heat, that he regained enough of his senses to recognize the sleeping form of the man beneath him.

_Jean Valjean._

Javert had been here before. He remembered that now. He remembered how good it had felt to suck that heat into himself, to feed until the gnawing nothingness within him was filled—and he remembered too the unbearable frustration and eternal, unfulfilled need that had awaited once he was torn from his feast.

The memory of losing his prey and being returned to darkness made the hunger within him flare until it blazed like a dark flame. With arms that he only now recalled he possessed he reached out. Where they touched Valjean’s skin, heat flowed into Javert, feeding him. The more of Valjean he touched, the stronger he became, until he was no longer a forgotten sigh on the wind, but his limbs possessed enough strength to pass through the fabric of Valjean’s nightshirt, to fit himself against the hot, mortal body and press the man’s wrists into the mattress.

Valjean’s eyes were closed, but he was breathing faster now, a frown on his face at the weight of Javert on his chest. Weakly, he struggled against the burden, but when Javert tightened his hold on his wrists, Valjean gasped and fell still, his eyes still closed. Javert could see the dim shades of Valjean’s nightmares: ghostly chains that bound him, and the ache of long-healed wounds.

Javert drank up those memories, devouring pain and shame and fear with the same voracious appetite that had drawn him to Valjean’s living heat.

Valjean’s chest was heaving. As Javert hungrily embraced the once so strong body, he could now see the dark shape that had taken form in Valjean’s nightmare: a greatcoat over broad shoulders with the span of a demon’s dark wings; strong, large hands gripping Valjean’s collar; a black hat on the man’s head; bristling whiskers beneath.

In his dream, Valjean trembled, driven into a dark corner as a game of cat and mouse at last came to an end.

Javert drank in that sensation as well, spreading himself out over Valjean’s body to gorge on his tremors, his flush, every shuddering beat of his mortal heart—and then, at last, Valjean’s lips parted, a soft, terrified sound escaping him, and Javert slipped a tendril of himself into the beckoning heat of his mouth.

Valjean’s tongue was hot and soft. Javert, who had not known the sensation of kissing another’s lips in his life, now took possession of that mouth. As Valjean gasped, he slid even deeper, a dark tendril of himself filling Valjean’s throat—and even as Valjean’s heart shuddered against his ghostly embrace, helpless and terrified, Javert became aware of a new source of heat.

Between Valjean’s legs, his flesh had roused. In the darkness that Javert lived in, it shone brighter than anything Javert had seen since he had found himself in that void that followed life. Full of mortal vitality, it was a feast Javert could not resist—and when he wrapped a first, starving tendril around it, Valjean trembled, the organ pulsing even brighter.

Heat rushed through Javert, more potent than anything he had known in this half-life. All around him, the shades of Valjean’s nightmare grew clearer and clearer until he could almost see himself—the man he had been, a demon of bristling whiskers and black greatcoat—spread out over Jean Valjean to finally take possession of his prey at the end of his days. Within Javert’s dark grasp, Valjean’s prick pulsed with heat and blood. The sensation was irresistible. When Javert probed at the small opening at the tip, Valjean swallowed convulsively all around the part of him that filled his throat.

Voraciously, Javert drove himself inside, a tendril of his own darkness penetrating relentlessly and deep down the tight passage of his swollen cock.

Helplessly, Valjean tensed and shivered all around him, unable to scream, for Javert still filled his throat. And even now, Valjean pulsed hot and hard, feeding Javert’s gnawing hunger with the potency of a carnality that had gone unacknowledged for an entire lifetime.

Deeper and deeper Javert pushed, until the slender organ of his ghostly darkness was curling in the swollen, aching testes at last. Then he gathered himself. A spectral thing of the afterlife he might be, but between his own legs, his cock stood swollen and hard, aching with the same mindless hunger that had called him here. As Valjean swallowed around the appendage of darkness that filled his throat, Javert drove himself forward—and Valjean arched voicelessly beneath him, helpless to prevent Javert’s possession of him as Javert at last penetrated his body in the way of the living.

He could feel Valjean all around him, hot and vulnerably soft, filled with the warmth of mortal flesh as he trembled. Still Javert drove himself deeper and deeper, a greed he had never known in his own life taking possession of him as he devoured the heat of Valjean, feeding on his ecstasy and terror until at last, Valjean convulsed with a silent, terrified cry.

His climax came like a blinding light that enveloped Javert so that for a heartbeat Javert, filled with that mortal energy, felt himself become corporeal once more. Sensation filled him: he knew once more what it was to possess a living, beating heart, and veins filled with blood that rushed hot with lust and carnal ecstasy through his veins.

Then Valjean slumped back into his bed. His eyes were wide open now, filled with terror. For a moment, they locked eyes, Valjean trembling as his eyes filled with a terrible disbelief.

Then the fire within Javert began to dim, all of Valjean’s mortal ardor unable to hold the void within Javert at bay for long. With an enraged cry, Javert felt himself beginning to drift away, relentlessly drawn back to that dark abyss that was his immortal jail now, while Valjean, sweat-soaked and shaking, began to murmur a terrified prayer.

***

It was not until the light of the full moon filled the bed chamber once more that Javert found himself returning. This time, there was no pulsing heat to draw him thither, no mortal, scalding flesh to await his hungry embrace.

The bed was empty, the room as dark as the void from which Javert’s soul had crept forth. The door was shrouded in black, the chamber decked with doleful tokens of mourning.

Javert released an inhuman howl of rage, the emptiness within him gnawing at him once more. But this time, there was no warmth to feed his need, no vulnerable body to greedily devour. There would never be again.


End file.
